Starr was eighteen when she returned, and very beautiful. Society was
made at once aware of her presence.
Michael, whose heart was ever on the alert to know of her, and to find
out where Mr. Endicott was, saw the first notice in the paper.
Three times had Endicott crossed the water to visit his wife and
daughter during their stay abroad, and every time Michael had known and
anxiously awaited some sign of his return. He had read the society
columns now for two years solely for the purpose of seeing whether
anything would be said about the Endicott family, and he was growing
wondrously wise in the ways of the society world.
Also, he had come to know society a little in another way.
Shortly after his last interview with Endicott Miss Emily Holt,
daughter of the senior member of the firm of Holt and Holt, had invited
Michael to dine with her father and herself; and following this had
come an invitation to a house party at the Holts’ country seat. This
came in the busy season of the farm work; but Michael, anxious to
please his employers, took a couple of days off and went. And he
certainly enjoyed the good times to the full. He had opportunity to
renew his tennis in which he had been a master hand, and to row and
ride, in both of which he excelled. Also, he met a number of pleasant
people who accepted him for the splendid fellow he looked to be and
asked not who he was. Men of his looks and bearing came not in their
way every day and Michael was good company wherever he went.
However, when it came to the evenings, Michael was at a loss. He could
not dance nor talk small talk. He was too intensely in earnest for
society’s ways, and they did not understand. He could talk about the
books he had read, and the things he had thought, but they were great
thoughts and not at all good form for a frivolous company to dwell
upon. One did not want a problem in economics or a deep philosophical
question thrust upon one at a dance. Michael became a delightful but
difficult proposition for the girls present, each one undertaking to
teach him how to talk in society, but each in turn making a miserable
failure. At last Emily Holt herself set out to give him gentle hints on
light conversation and found herself deep in a discussion of
Wordsworth’s poems about which she knew absolutely nothing, and in
which Michael’s weary soul had been steeping itself lately.
Miss Holt retired in laughing defeat, at last, and advised her protégé
to take a course of modern novels. Michael, always serious, took her at
her word, and with grave earnestness proceeded to do so; but his course
ended after two or three weeks. He found them far from his taste, the
most of them too vividly portraying the sins of his alley in a setting
of high life. Michael had enough of that sort of thing in real life,
and felt he could not stand the strain of modern fiction, so turned
back to his Wordsworth again and found soothing and mental stimulus.
But there followed other invitations, some of which he accepted and
some of which he declined. Still, the handsome, independent young
Adonis was in great demand in spite of his peculiar habit of always
being in earnest about everything. Perhaps they liked him and ran after
him but the more because of his inaccessibility, and the fact that he
was really doing something in the world. For it began to be whispered
about among those who knew—and perhaps Emily Holt was the
originator—that Michael was going to be something brilliant in the
world of worth-while-things one of these days.
The tickets that Endicott promised him had arrived in due time, and
anxious to please his benefactor, even in his alienation, Michael
faithfully attended concerts and lectures, and enjoyed them to the
full, borrowing from his hours of sleep to make up what he had thus
spent, rather than from his work or his study. And thus he grew in
knowledge of the arts, and in love of all things great, whether music,
or pictures, or great minds.
Matters stood thus when Starr appeared on the scene.
The young girl made her début that winter, and the papers were full of
her pictures and the entertainments given in her honor. She was dined
and danced and recepted day after day and night after night, and no
débutante had ever received higher praise of the critics for beauty,
grace, and charm of manner.
Michael read them all, carefully cut out and preserved a few pleasant
things that were written about her, looked at the pictures, and turned
from the pomp and pride of her triumph to the little snapshot of
herself on horseback in the Park with her groom, which she had sent to
him when she was a little girl. That was his, and his alone, but these
others belonged to the world, the world in which he had no part.
For from all this gaiety of society Michael now held aloof. Invitations
he received, not a few, for he was growing more popular every day, but
he declined them all. A fine sense of honor kept him from going
anywhere that Starr was sure to be. He had a right, of course, and it
would have been pleasant in a way to have her see that he was welcome
in her world; but always there was before his mental vision the memory
of her mother’s biting words as she put him down from the glorified
presence of her world, into an existence of shame and sin and sorrow.
He felt that Starr was so far above him that he must not hurt her by
coming too near. And so, in deference to the vow that he had taken when
the knowledge of his unworthiness had first been presented to him, he
stayed away.
Starr, as she heard more and more of his conquests in her world,
wondered and was piqued that he came not near her. And one day meeting
him by chance on Fifth Avenue, she greeted him graciously and invited
him to call.
Michael thanked her with his quiet manner, while his heart was in a
tumult over her beauty, and her dimpled smiles that blossomed out in
the old childish ways, only still more beautifully, it seemed to him.
He went in the strength of that smile many days: but he did not go to
call upon her.
The days passed into weeks and months, and still he did not appear, and
Starr, hearing more of his growing inaccessibility, determined to show
the others that she could draw him out of his shell. She humbled her
Endicott pride and wrote him a charming little note asking him to call
on one of the “afternoons” when she and her mother held court. But
Michael, though he treasured the note, wrote a graceful, but decided
refusal.
This angered the young woman, exceedingly, and she decided to cut him
out of her good graces entirely. And indeed the whirl of gaiety in
which she was involved scarcely gave her time for remembering old
friends. In occasional odd moments when she thought of him at all, it
was with a vague kind of disappointment, that he too, with all the
other things of her childhood, had turned out to be not what she had
thought.
But she met him face to face one bright Sunday afternoon as she walked
on the avenue with one of the many courtiers who eagerly attended her
every step. He was a slender, handsome young fellow, with dark eyes and
hair and reckless mouth. There were jaded lines already around his
youthful eyes and lips. His name was Stuyvesant Carter. Michael
recognized him at once. His picture had been in the papers but the week
before as leader with Starr of the cotillion. His presence with her in
the bright sunny afternoon was to Michael like a great cloud of trouble
looming out of a perfect day. He looked and looked again, his
expressive eyes searching the man before him to the depths, and then
going to the other face, beautiful, innocent, happy.
Michael was walking with Hester Semple.
Now Hester, in her broadcloth tailored suit, and big black hat with
plumes, was a pretty sight, and she looked quite distinguished walking
beside Michael, whose garments seemed somehow always to set him off as
if they had been especially designed for him; and after whom many eyes
were turned as he passed by.
Had it been but the moment later, or even three minutes before, Will
French would have been with them and Michael would have been obviously
a third member of the party, for he was most careful in these days to
let them both know that he considered they belonged together. But Will
had stopped a moment to speak to a business acquaintance, and Hester
and Michael were walking slowly ahead until he should rejoin them.
“Look!” said Hester excitedly. “Isn’t that the pretty Miss Endicott
whose picture is in the papers so much? I’m sure it must be, though
she’s ten times prettier than any of her pictures.”
But Michael needed not his attention called. He was already looking
with all his soul in his eyes.
As they came opposite he lifted his hat with, such marked, deference to
Starr that young Stuyvesant Carter turned and looked at him insolently,
with a careless motion of his own hand toward his hat. But Starr, with
brilliant cheeks, and eyes that looked straight at Michael, continued
her conversation with her companion and never so much as by the flicker
of an eyelash recognized her former friend.
It was but an instant in the passing, and Hester was so taken up with
looking at the beauty of the idol of society that she never noticed
Michael’s lifted hat until they were passed. Then Will French joined
them breezily.
“Gee whiz, but she’s a peach, isn’t she?” he breathed as he took his
place beside Hester, and Michael dropped behind, “but I suppose it’ll
all rub off. They say most of those swells aren’t real.”
“I think she’s real!” declared Hester. “Her eyes are sweet and her
smile is charming. The color on her cheeks wasn’t put on like paint. I
just love her. I believe I’d like to know her. She certainly is
beautiful, and she doesn’t look a bit spoiled. Did you ever see such
eyes?”
“They aren’t half as nice as a pair of gray ones I know,” said Will
looking meaningfully at them as they were lifted smiling to his.
“Will, you mustn’t say such things—on the street—anyway—and Michael
just behind—Why, where is Michael? See! He has dropped away behind and
is walking slowly. Will, does Michael know Miss Endicott? I never
thought before about their names being the same. But he lifted his hat
to her—and she simply stared blankly at him as if she had never seen
him before.”
“The little snob!” said Will indignantly. “I told you they were all
artificial. I believe they are some kind of relation or other. Come to
think of it I believe old Endicott introduced Michael into our office.
Maybe she hasn’t seen him in a long time and has forgotten him.”
“No one who had once known Michael could ever forget him,” said Hester
with conviction.
“No, I suppose that’s so,” sighed Will, looking at her a trifle
wistfully.
After the incident of this meeting Michael kept more and more aloof
from even small entrances into society; and more and more he gave his
time to study and to work among the poor.
So the winter passed in a round of gaieties, transplanted for a few
weeks to Palm Beach, then back again to New York, then to Tuxedo for
the summer, and Michael knew of it all, yet had no part any more in it,
for now she had cut him out of her life herself, and he might not even
cherish her bright smiles and words of the past. She did not wish to
know him. It was right, it was just; it was best; but it was agony!
Michael’s fresh color grew white that year, and he looked more like the
man-angel than ever as he came and went in the alley; old Sally from
her doorstep, drawing nearer and nearer to her own end, saw it first,
and called daily attention to the spirit-look of Michael as he passed.
One evening early in spring, Michael was starting home weary and
unusually discouraged. Sam had gone down to the farm with Jim to get
ready for the spring work, and find out just how things were going and
what was needed from the city. Jim was developing into a tolerably
dependable fellow save for his hot temper, and Michael missed them
from, the alley work, for the rooms were crowded now every night. True
Hester and Will were faithful, but they were so much taken up with one
another in these days that he did not like to trouble them with unusual
cases, and he had no one with whom to counsel. Several things had been
going awry and he was sad.
Hester and Will were ahead walking slowly as usual. Michael locked the
door with a sigh and turned to follow them, when he saw in the heavy
shadows on the other side of the court two figures steal from one of
the openings between the houses and move along toward the end of the
alley. Something in their demeanor made Michael watch them
instinctively. As they neared the end of the alley toward the street
they paused a moment and one of the figures stole back lingeringly. He
thought he recognized her as a girl cursed with more than the usual
amount of beauty. She disappeared into the darkness of the tenement,
but the other after looking back a moment kept on toward the street.
Michael quickened his steps and came to the corner at about the same
time, crossing over as the other man passed the light and looking full
in his face.
To his surprise he saw that the man was Stuyvesant Carter!
With an exclamation of disgust and horror Michael stepped full in the
pathway of the man and blocked, his further passage.
“What are you doing here?” He asked in tones that would have made a
brave man tremble.
Stuyvesant Carter glared at the vision that had suddenly stopped his
way, drew his hat down over his evil eyes and snarled: “Get out of my
way or you’ll be sorry! I’m probably doing the same thing that you’re
doing here!”
“Probably not!” said Michael with meaning tone. “You know you can mean
no good to a girl like that one you were just with. Come down here
again at your peril! And if I hear of you’re having anything to do with
that girl I’ll take means to have the whole thing made public.”
“Indeed!” said young Carter insolently. “Is she your girl? I think not!
And who are you anyway?”
“You’ll find out if you come down here again!” said Michael his fingers
fairly aching to grip the gentlemanly villain before him. “Now get out
of here at once or you may not be able to walk out.”
“I’ll get out when I like!” sneered the other, nevertheless backing
rapidly away through the opening given him. When he had reached a safe
distance, he added, tantalizingly: “And I’ll come back when I like,
too.”
“Very well, I shall be ready for you, Mr. Carter!”
Michael’s tones were clear and distinct and could be heard two blocks
away in the comparative stillness of the city night. At sound of his
real name spoken fearlessly in such environment, the leader of society
slid away into the night as if he had suddenly been erased from the
perspective; nor did sound of footsteps linger from his going.
“Who was dat guy?”
It was a small voice that spoke at Michael’s elbow. Hester and Will
were far down the street in the other direction and had forgotten
Michael.
Michael turned and saw one of his smallest “kids” crouching in the
shadow beside him.
“Why, Tony, are you here yet? You ought to have been asleep long ago.”
“Was dat de ike wot comes to see Lizzie?”
“See here, Tony, what do you know about this?”
Whereupon Tony proceeded, to unfold a tale that made Michael’s heart
sick. “Lizzie, she’s got swell sence she went away to work to a
res’trant at de sheeshole. She ain’t leavin’ her ma hev her wages, an’
she wears fierce does, like de swells!” finished Tony solemnly as if
these things were the worst of all that he had told.
So Michael sent Tony to his rest and went home with a heavy heart, to
wake and think through the night long what he should do to save Starr,
his bright beautiful Starr, from the clutches of this human vampire.
When morning dawned Michael knew what he was going to do. He had
decided to go to Mr. Endicott and tell him the whole story. Starr’s
father could and would protect her better than he could.
As early as he could get away from the office he hurried to carry out
his purpose, but on arriving at Mr. Endicott’s office he was told that
the gentleman had sailed for Austria and would be absent some weeks,
even months, perhaps, if his business did not mature as rapidly as he
hoped. Michael asked for the address, but when he reached his desk
again and tried to frame a letter that would convey the truth
convincingly to the absent father, who could not read it for more than
a week at least, and would then be thousands of miles away from the
scene of action, he gave it up as useless. Something more effectual
must be done and done quickly.
In the first place he must have facts. He could not do anything until
he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that what he feared was true
absolutely. If he could have told Mr. Endicott all would have been
different; he was a man and could do his own investigating if he saw
fit. Michael might have left the matter in his hands. But he could not
tell him.
If there was some other male member of the family to whom he could go
with the warning, he must be very sure of his ground before he spoke.
If there were no such man friend or relative of the family he must do
something else—what? He shrank from thinking.
And so with the sources open to a keen lawyer, he went to work to
ferret out the life and doings of Stuyvesant Carter; and it is needless
to say that he unearthed a lot of information that was so sickening in
its nature that he felt almost helpless before it. It was appalling—and
the more so because of the rank and station of the man. If he had been
brought up in the slums one might have expected—but this!
The second day, Michael, haggard and worn with the responsibility,
started out to find that useful male relative of the Endicott family.
There seemed to be no such person. The third morning he came to the
office determined to tell the whole story to Mr. Holt, senior, and ask
his advice and aid in protecting Starr; but to his dismay he found that
Mr. Holt, senior, had been taken seriously ill with heart trouble, and
it might be weeks before he was able to return to the office.
Deeply grieved and utterly baffled, the young man tried to think what
to do next. The junior Mr. Holt had never encouraged confidences, and
would not be likely to help in this matter. He must do something
himself.
And now Michael faced two alternatives.
There were only two people to whom the story could be told, and they
were Starr herself, and her mother!
Tell Starr all he knew he could not. To tell her anything of this story
would be gall and wormwood! To have to drop a hint that would blacken
another man’s character would place him in a most awkward position. To
think of doing it was like tearing out his heart for her to trample
upon.
Yet on the other hand Michael would far rather go into battle and face
a thousand bristling cannon mouths than meet the mother on her own
ground and tell her what he had to tell, while her steel-cold eyes
looked him through and through or burned him with scorn and unbelief.
He had an instinctive feeling that he should fail if he went to her.
At last he wrote a note to Starr:
Dear Miss Endicott:
Can you let me have a brief interview at your convenience and just
as soon as possible? I have a favor to ask of you which I most
earnestly hope you will be willing to grant.
Sincerely yours,
Michael.
He sent the note off with fear and trembling. Every word had been
carefully considered and yet it haunted him continually that he might
have written differently. Would she grant the interview? If she did not
what then should he do?
The next day he received a ceremonious little note on creamy paper
crested with a silver star monogramed in blue:
Miss Endicott will receive Mr. Endicott tomorrow morning at eleven.
A shiver ran through him as he read, and consigned the elegant
communication to his waste-basket. It was not from his Starr. It was
from a stranger. And yet, the subtle perfume that stole forth from the
envelope reminded him of her. On second thought he drew it forth again
and put it in his pocket. After all she had granted the interview, and
this bit of paper was a part of her daily life; it had come from her,
she had written it, and sent it to him. It was therefore precious.
Starr had been more than usually thoughtful when she read Michael’s
note. It pleased her that at last she had brought him to her feet,
though not for the world would she let him know it. Doubtless he wished
her influence for some position or other that he would have asked her
father instead if he had been at home. Starr knew nothing of the
alienation between her father and Michael. But Michael should pay for
his request, in humility at least. Therefore she sent her cool little
stab of ceremony to call him to her.
But Michael did not look in the least humiliated as he entered the
luxurious library where Starr had chosen to receive him. His manner was
grave and assured, and he made no sign of the tumult it gave him to see
her thus in her own home once more where all her womanliness and charm
were but enhanced by the luxury about her.
He came forward to greet her just as if she had not cut him dead the
very last time they met; and Starr as she regarded him was struck with
wonder over the exalted beauty of manhood that was his unique dower.
“Thank you for letting me come,” he said simply. “I will not intrude
long upon your time—”
Starr had a strange sensation of fear lest he was going to slip away
from her again before she was willing.
“Oh, that is all right,” she said graciously; “won’t you sit down. I am
always glad to do a favor for a friend of my childhood.”
It was a sentence she had rehearsed many times in her mind, and it was
meant to convey reproach and indifference in the extreme, but somehow
as she fluttered into a great leather chair she felt that her voice was
trembling and she had miserably failed in what she had meant to do. She
felt strangely ashamed of her attitude, with those two dear soulful
eyes looking straight at her. It reminded her of the way he had looked
when he told her in the Florida chapel long ago that nobody but herself
had ever kissed him—and she had kissed him then. Suppose he should be
going to ask her to do it again! The thought made her cheeks rosy, and
her society air deserted her entirely. But of course he would not do
that. It was a crazy thought. What was the matter with her anyway, and
why did she feel so unnerved? Then Michael spoke.
“May I ask if you know a man by the name of Stuyvesant Carter?”
Starr looked startled, and then stiffened slightly.
“I do!” she answered graciously. “He is one of my intimate friends. Is
there anything he can do for you that you would like my intercession?”
Starr smiled graciously. She thought she understood the reason for
Michael’s call now, and she was pleased to think how easily she could
grant his request. The idea of introducing the two was stimulating. She
was pondering what a handsome pair of men they were, and so different
from each other.
But Michael’s clear voice startled her again out of her complacence.
“Thank God there is not!” he said, and his tone had that in it that
made Starr sit up and put on all her dignity.
“Indeed!” she said with asperity, her eyes flashing.
“Pardon me, Miss Endicott,” Michael said sadly. “You do not understand
my feeling, of course!”
“I certainly do not.” All Starr’s icicle sentences were inherited from
her mother.
“And I cannot well explain,” he went on sadly. “I must ask you to take
it on trust. The favor I have come to ask is this, that you will not
have anything further to do with that young man until your father’s
return. I know this may seem very strange to you, but believe me if you
understood you would not hesitate to do what I have asked.”
Michael held her with his look and with his earnest tones. For a moment
she could not speak from sheer astonishment at his audacity. Then she
froze him with a look copied from her mother’s haughty manner.
“And what reason can you possibly give for such an extraordinary
request?” she asked at last, when his look compelled an answer.
“I cannot give you a reason,” he said gravely. “You must trust me that
this is best. Your father will explain to you when he comes.”
Another pause and then Starr haughtily asked:
“And you really think that I would grant such a ridiculous request
which in itself implies a lack of trust in the character of one of my
warmest friends?”
“I most earnestly hope that you will,” answered Michael.
In spite of her hauteur she could not but be impressed by Michael’s
manner. His grave tones and serious eyes told hear heart that here was
something out of the ordinary, at least she gave Michael credit for
thinking there was.
“I certainly shall not do anything of the kind without a good reason
for it.” Starr’s tone was determined and cold.
“And I can give you no reason beyond telling you that he is not such a
man as a friend of yours should be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Please do not ask me. Please trust me and give me your promise. At
least wait until I can write to your father.”
Starr rose with a look of her father’s stubbornness now in her pretty
face.
“I wish to be told,” she demanded angrily.
“You would not wish to be told if you knew,” he answered.
She stood looking at him steadily for a full moment, then with a
graceful toss of her lovely head, she said haughtily:
“I must decline to accede to your request, Mr. Endicott. You will
excuse me, I have a luncheon engagement now.”
She stood aside for him to go out the door, but as he rose with
pleading still in his eyes, he said:
“You will write to your father and tell him what I have said? You will
wait until you hear from him?”
“It is impossible, Mr. Endicott.” Starr’s tone was freezing now, and he
could see that she was very angry. “Mr. Carter is my friend!” she flung
at him as he passed her and went out into the hall.
Another night of anguish brought Michael face to face with the
necessity for an interview with Starr’s mother.
Taking his cue from the hour Starr had set for his call, he went a
little before eleven o’clock and sent up the card of the firm with his
own name written below; for he had very serious doubts of obtaining an
interview at all if the lady thought he might be there on his own
business.
It is doubtful whether Mrs. Endicott recognized the former “Mikky”
under the title written below his most respectable law firm’s name. Any
representative of Holt and Holt was to be recognized of course. She
came down within a half hour, quite graciously with lorgnette in her
hand, until she had reached the centre of the reception room where he
had been put to await her. Then Michael arose, almost from the same
spot where she had addressed him nearly four years before, the halo of
the morning shining through the high window on his hair, and with a
start and stiffening of her whole form she recognized him.
“Oh, it is _you_!” There was that in her tone that argued ill for
Michael’s mission, but with grave and gentle bearing he began:
“Madam, I beg your pardon for the intrusion. I would not have come if
there had been any other way. I tried to find Mr. Endicott but was told
he had sailed—”
“You needn’t waste your time, and mine. I shall do nothing for you. As
I told you before, if I remember, I think far too much already has been
done for you and I never felt that you had the slightest claim upon our
bounty. I must refuse to hear any hard luck stories.”
Michael’s face was a study. Indignation, shame and pity struggled with
a sudden sense of the ridiculousness of the situation.
What he did was to laugh, a rich, clear, musical laugh that stopped the
lady’s tirade better than he could have done it in any other way.
“Well! Really! Have you come to insult me?” she said angrily. “I will
call a servant,” and she stepped curtly toward the bell.
“Madam, I beg your pardon,” said Michael quickly, grave at once. “I
intended no insult and I have come to ask no favor of you. I came
because of a serious matter, perhaps a grave danger to your home, which
I thought you should be made acquainted with.”
“Indeed! Well, make haste,” said Mrs. Endicott, half mollified. “My
time is valuable. Has some one been planning to rob the house?”
Michael looked straight in her face and told her briefly a few facts,
delicately worded, forcefully put, which would have convinced the heart
of any true mother that the man before her had none but pure motives.
Not so this mother. The more Michael talked the stiffer, haughtier,
more hateful, grew her stare; and when he paused, thinking not to
utterly overwhelm her with his facts, she remarked, superciliously:
“How could you possibly know all these things, unless you had been in
the same places where you claim Mr. Carter has been? But, oh, of course
I forgot! Your former home was there, and so of course you must have
many friends among—ah—_those people_!” She drew her mental skirts away
from contaminating contact as she spoke the last two words, and
punctuated them with a contemptuous look through the lorgnette.
“But, my dear fellow,” she went on adopting the most outrageously
patronizing manner, “you should never trust those people. Of course you
don’t understand that, having been away from them so many years among
respectable folks, but they really do not know what the truth is. I
doubt very much whether there is a grain of foundation for all that you
have been telling me.”
“Madam, I have taken pains to look into the matter and I know that
every word which I have been telling you is true. Two of the most noted
detectives of the city have been making an investigation. I would not
have ventured to come if I had not had indisputable facts to give you.”
Mrs. Endicott arose still holding the lorgnette to her eyes, though she
showed that the interview was drawing to a close:
“Then young man,” she said, “it will be necessary for me to tell you
that the things you have been saying are not considered proper to speak
of before ladies in respectable society. I remember of course your low
origin and lack of breeding and forgive what otherwise I should
consider an insult. Furthermore, let me tell you, that it is not
considered honorable to investigate a gentleman’s private life too
closely. All young men sow their wild oats of course, and are probably
none the worse for it. In fact, if a man has not seen life he really is
not worth much. It is his own affair, and no business of yours. I must
ask you to refrain from saying anything of this matter to anyone.
Understand? Not a word of it! My husband would be deeply outraged to
know that a young friend of his daughter’s, a man of refinement and
position, had been the object of scandal by one who should honor anyone
whom he honors. I really cannot spare any more time this morning.”
“But madam! You certainly do not mean that you will not investigate
this matter for yourself? You would not let your daughter accept such a
man as her friend—?”
The lorgnette came into play again but its stare was quite ineffectual
upon Michael’s white earnest face. His deep eyes lit with horror at
this monstrous woman who seemed devoid of mother-love.
“The time has come for you to stop. It is none of your business what I
mean. You have done what you thought was your duty by telling me, now
put the matter entirely out of your mind. Desist at once!”
With a final stare she swept out of the room and up the broad staircase
and Michael, watching her until she was out of sight, went out of the
house with bowed head and burdened heart. Went out to write a letter to
Starr’s father, a letter which would certainly have performed its
mission as his other efforts had failed; but which because of a sudden
and unexpected change of address just missed him at every stopping
place, as it travelled its silent unfruitful way about the world after
him, never getting anywhere until too late.